Recovery Pt2
by TheNamesBeef
Summary: The second installation of this story. In the deeps of Russian territory, Archer and Toad stumbles into one of Makarov's sentry posts... With two of their friends near death, Archer must do everything he can to take down the soldiers inside.Will he sucee
1. Chapter 1

Recovery Part 2

The night was cold in Southern Russia, inside the Orlav forests an owl hooted spookily. An ice cold draft of wind blew into the small rundown cabin, its occupants shivered with cold. Three people lived in that house: an old lady, an ancient man and a young boy in his mid-twenties. There were three knocks on the wooden door. The wood creaked at the strength of each knock until it looked like it would collapse into splinters. The young man stood up from his wooden chair and drew a wicked looking knife, its edges sharp enough to cut through a man with a single swipe.

"Who is it?" asked the old woman her beady eyes flashing at the windows and door.

There was no reply, just the cold wind whistling outside. The young man looked at the old wrinkly face of the lady. She nodded and he took careful, slow steps towards the door. His knife poised up in front of him, he swung the door open and leapt out screaming a battle-cry.

The door slammed shut behind him and there was silence.

The old man got up, his joints creaking as he took slow painful steps. He reached beside his old armchair and picked up his Baika MP 153 pump action shotgun. He slotted in 12 gauge shells with slow efficiency. He placed the final shell and loaded the gun. Chuck chuck. He kicked the door open and raised his gun, ready to shoot at any target. What the man saw made his heart freeze. The young man… His son. Was stabbed in the chest with his own knife. He was placed, sitting down lying on a tree directly in front of the house. He turned around ready to run, but the door slammed shut.

The wind picked up and the old man felt himself shiver. He turned around to see a man in his thirties, dressed in an artic ghille suit and held an American 9mm pistol with a suppressor attached. The old man looked into the face of Archer, his face was full of grime and dirt. Anger laced like poison around the person creating an aura of fear. The old man stepped back and dropped his gun. It clattered to the floor and was still.

"Wh- wh- who are you?" he stuttered,

Archer stared down at him and growled, "Where's he?"

"Please, sir, I have no idea what you're talking about," the man replied, his voice full of fear.

Archer smiled; it wasn't at all a nice smile. It was a smile you give something just about you're about to kill someone. Archer leapt at the man. They both fell into the snow with a small, pushhh as snow flew into the air and settled down slowly like feathers.

Archers hand grabbed the old mans face and pulled. There was the sound of stretching rubber and the mask ripped revealing a Russian man in his forties, his face full of malice and fear.

"Bastard American," the Russian spat, "You would never get anything from me!"

"Then good-bye Viktor Tarasov," Archer raised his gun and fired.

Viktor's eyes were wide open with shock as the 9mm parabelum round smashed in-between his eyes and went through his brain like a knife through butter.

The old lady's eyes widened as she heard the commotion outside. She ripped off her mask revealing a stunning lady, in her mid thirties with long billowing black hair. Her brown eyes were full of fear as her eyes dashed around the house, trying to find a secret exit that she knew didn't exist. She fumbled in her pockets and pulled out an earpiece. She pressed a button on her phone and the mobile dialled a number.

"Come on," She cursed in Russian as she got the voice mail message.

The door opened slowly, with a creak. Archer stood in the doorway, looking like everyone's nightmare. He flung in the dead body of Tarasov and growled,

"Where is he?"

The young woman stared fearfully into the eyes of Archer who replied with an icy cold stare. She reached into her holster located behind her chair and whipped out a pistol, an American M1911. She held it out ready to fire… But Archer shot first.

Archer kicked the dead corpse off the chair and picked up the earpiece. He looked at the floor and saw the phone. He picked that one up too and called. This time the caller picked up, his voice was full of anger and evil.

"I've talked to your friend, Captain Price. You want General Shepard dead too I presume,"

"Yes, I do. The bastard betrayed us," Archer replied, clutching his fists.

"Very well, you owe us now. Shepard will be dead in six hours."

The phone went dead. Archer swore and threw away the phone and earpiece. He reached for his walkie-talkie and said,

"It's all clear, hostiles eliminated. Bring in the zombies,"

"Copy that Archer bringing in the zombies," Toad replied, his voice strained as he picked up the two bodies of Ghost and Roach.

Archer collapsed into a chair and closed his eyes. Non-stop traveling finally caught up with him and he fell asleep instantly. The pistol slipped from his hand and fell to the floor with a soft clatter of metal on wood.


	2. Chapter 2

Recovery Part 2

The night was cold in Southern Russia, inside the Orlav forests an owl hooted spookily. An ice cold draft of wind blew into the small rundown cabin, its occupants shivered with cold. Three people lived in that house: an old lady, an ancient man and a young boy in his mid-twenties. There were three knocks on the wooden door. The wood creaked at the strength of each knock until it looked like it would collapse into splinters. The young man stood up from his wooden chair and drew a wicked looking knife, its edges sharp enough to cut through a man with a single swipe.

"Who is it?" asked the old woman her beady eyes flashing at the windows and door.

There was no reply, just the cold wind whistling outside. The young man looked at the old wrinkly face of the lady. She nodded and he took careful, slow steps towards the door. His knife poised up in front of him, he swung the door open and leapt out screaming a battle-cry.

The door slammed shut behind him and there was silence.

The old man got up, his joints creaking as he took slow painful steps. He reached beside his old armchair and picked up his Baika MP 153 pump action shotgun. He slotted in 12 gauge shells with slow efficiency. He placed the final shell and loaded the gun. Chuck chuck. He kicked the door open and raised his gun, ready to shoot at any target. What the man saw made his heart freeze. The young man… His son. Was stabbed in the chest with his own knife. He was placed, sitting down lying on a tree directly in front of the house. He turned around ready to run, but the door slammed shut.

The wind picked up and the old man felt himself shiver. He turned around to see a man in his thirties, dressed in an artic ghille suit and held an American 9mm pistol with a suppressor attached. The old man looked into the face of Archer, his face was full of grime and dirt. Anger laced like poison around the person creating an aura of fear. The old man stepped back and dropped his gun. It clattered to the floor and was still.

"Wh- wh- who are you?" he stuttered,

Archer stared down at him and growled, "Where's he?"

"Please, sir, I have no idea what you're talking about," the man replied, his voice full of fear.

Archer smiled; it wasn't at all a nice smile. It was a smile you give something just about you're about to kill someone. Archer leapt at the man. They both fell into the snow with a small, pushhh as snow flew into the air and settled down slowly like feathers.

Archers hand grabbed the old mans face and pulled. There was the sound of stretching rubber and the mask ripped revealing a Russian man in his forties, his face full of malice and fear.

"Bastard American," the Russian spat, "You would never get anything from me!"

"Then good-bye Viktor Tarasov," Archer raised his gun and fired.

Viktor's eyes were wide open with shock as the 9mm parabelum round smashed in-between his eyes and went through his brain like a knife through butter.

The old lady's eyes widened as she heard the commotion outside. She ripped off her mask revealing a stunning lady, in her mid thirties with long billowing black hair. Her brown eyes were full of fear as her eyes dashed around the house, trying to find a secret exit that she knew didn't exist. She fumbled in her pockets and pulled out an earpiece. She pressed a button on her phone and the mobile dialled a number.

"Come on," She cursed in Russian as she got the voice mail message.

The door opened slowly, with a creak. Archer stood in the doorway, looking like everyone's nightmare. He flung in the dead body of Tarasov and growled,

"Where is he?"

The young woman stared fearfully into the eyes of Archer who replied with an icy cold stare. She reached into her holster located behind her chair and whipped out a pistol, an American M1911. She held it out ready to fire… But Archer shot first.

Archer kicked the dead corpse off the chair and picked up the earpiece. He looked at the floor and saw the phone. He picked that one up too and called. This time the caller picked up, his voice was full of anger and evil.

"I've talked to your friend, Captain Price. You want General Shepard dead too I presume,"

"Yes, I do. The bastard betrayed us," Archer replied, clutching his fists.

"Very well, you owe us now. Shepard will be dead in six hours."

The phone went dead. Archer swore and threw away the phone and earpiece. He reached for his walkie-talkie and said,

"It's all clear, hostiles eliminated. Bring in the zombies,"

"Copy that Archer bringing in the zombies," Toad replied, his voice strained as he picked up the two bodies of Ghost and Roach.

Archer collapsed into a chair and closed his eyes. Non-stop traveling finally caught up with him and he fell asleep instantly. The pistol slipped from his hand and fell to the floor with a soft clatter of metal on wood.


End file.
